


We've Got Work for You

by sister_wolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character of Color, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor was having a pretty good day until a crazy guy in a trenchcoat appeared out of thin air, claiming to be an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Got Work for You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://medie.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**medie**](http://medie.dreamwidth.org/)'s [Awesome People of Colour Coment-a-thon](http://medie.livejournal.com/1759238.html), for [](http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**dotfic**](http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/)'s prompt _Supernatural, Victor, "because we've got work for you"_. Thank you to [](http://tripoli.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://tripoli.dreamwidth.org/)**tripoli** for beta-ing.

Victor is flipping burgers one-handed on the grill behind his parents' house in Elgin, a cold, frosty beer in his free hand. The sunlight is golden, almost syrupy, and there's an intermittent breeze that brings the smell of freshly cut lawns. The sound of cicadas droning in the distance is only noise he can hear. Everything feels slow and dreamy, and he's not entirely sure how long he's been here, but for some reason Victor can't bring himself to worry about it.

And then a skinny white guy in a bad suit and rumpled trenchcoat appears out of thin air about six inches from his nose.

"Shit!" The spatula goes flying as Victor jumps back, his right hand going for the gun that _isn't_ holstered under his old UIC tee-shirt.

"Victor Henriksen," the guy says calmly. His head tips to the side slightly as he watches Victor reflexively grab for a gun which is also not holstered at the small of his back.

"Who the hell are you?" Victor demands.

"My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord," the guy adds with no inflection in his voice.

"Right," Victor says slowly, not buying it for a minute, as he puts down the beer that he miraculously hasn't managed to spill from his left hand.

The guy just sighs, like he gets this a lot. And then suddenly there are _wings_ stretching into the air behind his back. They're not feathery looking, the way Victor would have expected. They're wings made out of pure light, almost too bright to look at directly. And Victor is too cynical to believe in fairy tales, but for some reason -- maybe it's the dream-like mood of the whole encounter -- he can't muster up his usual skepticism about this. He has absolutely no doubt in his mind that this rumpled-looking guy in a cheap suit is in fact an angel.

"Jesus," Victor breathes, then guiltily looks toward the house to make sure his mama didn't just hear him blaspheming in front of an _angel of the Lord_.

"No. Castiel," the angel corrects him. "I need you to come with me."

"Why?" This has got to be the Winchesters' fault. Shit like this never happened before he got handed their file.

"Because we've got work for you." Castiel's face hasn't changed expression at all, but he's beginning to sound a little impatient.

And maybe Victor should be freaking out a little more here, but the weird calmness of the afternoon still has him in its grip. He finds himself saying, as if the angel is just a human bureaucrat who's trying to jump the chain of command, "Listen, I'm sure whatever you've got going is very important, but my department is short-handed and there's no way I can get leave right now." For some reason, he can't remember what cases he's working on right now, but hell, they're always short-handed.

"Where exactly do you think you are?" the angel asks, staring Victor straight in the eyes without blinking. His eyes are an unearthly shade of blue.

"Elgin." The angel keeps staring at him. "If you want specifics, the back porch of my parents' house off Randall Road," Victor says, not sure what Castiel is trying to get at.

"What is the date?"

Victor opens his mouth, about to answer, and then stops. It's the weirdest thing -- he can't remember what the date is.

And now that he thinks about it, his parents haven't lived in this house since 1997. This whole neighborhood and all of its post-WWII bungalows were torn down and replaced with McMansions over ten years ago.

"You're in Heaven," Castiel says, like that's a completely normal thing to say.

"Uh, no I'm not." Victor doesn't feel dead. His heart's beating and he's breathing. But now he's beginning to remember something vaguely about the Winchester brothers and demons. And at the back of his head, he has the faint, tickling feeling that there's something horrible locked away that he doesn't want to remember.

Goddammit, if he really is dead, it just figures it'd be the Winchesters' fault.

"Yes, you are," Castiel says. Now he's really starting to sound impatient, although the expression on his face hasn't changed. "We have need of your expertise on Earth. You and your partner would be working as agents of Heaven--"

"Whoah, slow down. My _partner_?"

"Yes. We believe that your skills will be uniquely complementary to one another. Her powerful psychic abilities, paired with your background in investigation, will be of great aid to you in your mission of investigating and neutralizing the remaining agents of Hell on Earth."

"A psychic," Victor says flatly. Angels and demons, that he can buy, having seen them in action. But psychics are still nothing but woo-woo New Age bullshit.

"Her name is Pamela Barnes," Castiel says.

Victor jumps and swears under his breath as a hot brunette in a torn Ramones tee-shirt and tight jeans suddenly appears right next to him.

"Whoops, didn't mean to startle you there, Grumpy," she grins, winking at Victor.

"My name," Victor says through his teeth, "is Special Agent Victor Henriksen."

Pamela nods seriously. "Gotcha, Vic." Victor has the distinct feeling that she's laughing at him. She perches on the railing of the porch, high-heeled boots swinging aimlessly, as she says, "So, Cas here was telling me that he's got a job for us to do. And I gotta say, I _was_ enjoying the endless concert at the Meadowlands, but there's only so many times you can get backstage passes at a Social D show before it starts to get a little old." She pauses, then adds, "Oh, who am I kidding, that'll never get old. But anyway, Cas's job sounds like a fun way to spend part of eternity, so I figured, why not?"

"Hunting down demons is not a game," Victor says, consciously using his most intimidating voice and expression, the one that's been known to make hard-core criminals wet themselves.

Pamela just jumps down from the porch railing and claps her hands briskly. "Right, then, it's settled. Cas is gonna show us the way to get back down to Earth. You can be the big macho guy with the guns and I'll find the demons to point you at."

Victor may be dead, but he can already feel his blood pressure rising. He cannot believe that Castiel expects him to work with her.

"Follow me," Castiel says. The wooden steps down from the porch suddenly morph into an endless-looking marble staircase as he starts down them.

"C'mon, partner," Pamela says, winking.

And Victor jumps again, because as she walked past him, his apparent new partner just _smacked him on the ass_.

This is not turning out to be Victor Henriksen's day.


End file.
